


if it all goes wrong, darling just hold on

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt!Hanzo, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, M/M, injured!hanzo, it's alright in the end, jesse makes it better tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:38:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9130816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: hanzo has prosthetic legs after having them removed by the shimada elders because i like that head cannon.





	

Very few times did the archer's prosthetics prove to be an inconvenience, as they were physically superior to the legs they replaced, and allowed him to move swifter and quieter than any without augmentations, but now they were an inconvenience. Of course, had they been made of flesh and bone, the rubble pinning them to the ground would have smashed them beyond repair and left him in agony. 

The only thing he felt now was shock, shock from the initial blast, shock from being pinned, and shock from the overwhelming buzz of voices coming in over the comm stashed snugly in his ear. When Hanzo tried to move, the sharp edges of broken concrete and thick wires jabbed ruthlessly at his lightly armored sides. The snug, form fitting material was meant to protect him from bruises and minor cuts while scaling buildings and hasty maneuvers to get him out of harms way, not to protect from projectiles, and certainly not to protect him from collapsing buildings. The pained gasp that wrenched itself from his throat only served to anger the buzz in his ear, a flurry of voices asking for status reports and confirmation of life.

"... possibly concussed, fractured ribs, lacerations and bruising, if he's lucky," came a lightly accented, female voice over the comms, his vision coming in and out of focus.

"But he's alive?" Came a second, rough from smoking and drinking for years.

A small, almost inaudible sigh, whether or not the woman was exasperated by the question or relieved by the answer, she continued on to reassure the flurry of voices. "His suit reads an elevated heart rate, which is to be expected, he is in pain."

The voice was soothing, and so were the words. Confirmation to himself in his dazed state that he was alive, for the time being. "The rubble is still settling, we'll need to get him fast before it crushes him." Another female voice, this one younger, but determined. After this revelation, the conversation was no longer organized, voices speaking over each other, all at once offering their solutions before that rough, deep voice boomed through, taking charge.

Hanzo could no longer follow the conversation, his arms tucking in close to his torso as he shifted to his side as best he could. His elegant features twisted and contorted as his ribs screamed from the movement, a broken noise leaving his mouth once more.

"Agent Shimada, remain calm. An extraction team is being sent for you." This voice was male, unlike the voice that had asked for confirmation that he was still alive, but pleasant nonetheless.

Although he was conscious, he registered only small portions of the conversation, the pain consuming a vast portion of his attention. For the next few hours, Hanzo was unsure of how long, drifting in and out of consciousness, he lay like that, his body mostly broken and concealed by rubble. After perhaps maybe two hours of teams working to remove the rubble from the outside to make their way into the building, a large, firm hand curled itself gently around his bruised cheekbone.

"Oh darlin'," came that rough voice, and instantly he wanted to reach out, beg like a child to be cradled after a particularly disturbing nightmare. "We'll get you home. Just rest those pretty eyes of yours."

His eyes focused on a large, crooked nose, permanently damaged from a bar fight and a poor attempt at setting it. Next, his eyes found two more, watching him with an unreadable expression. Or perhaps the only reason he could not read it was because the focus it required only added to the migraine making its home between his eyebrows.

"McCree," a hushed voice murmured. "The rubble is too big for even Reinhardt to move. To get the machinery to lift it could take another few hours, half a day even."

The archer's large hand fisted itself into the dirty serape wrapped around the cowboy's neck. "Don't leave me," he begged, throat raw from lack of water and pain. "Please." Each breath was agony, and the panic that had settled cold, right next to his heart, only increased respiration.

An even larger gloved hand wrapped around his own, fingers rubbing soothingly over his knuckles as he hushed him. "Hey, ain't no one leavin' you. 'Specially me," he promised. Once Jesse's hand successfully removed Hanzo's from his serape, he rested it delicately to rest across the injured man's chest, and unwound the comm wire from the shell of his ear. "Don't you worry, just sit back an' relax."

"McCree," the same voice from earlier. "He needs to see Dr. Ziegler immediately."

"Tell me something I don't know," came his scathing response, upper body almost lunging at the other person. Out of the corner of his eye, Hanzo could see them flinch away.

"We'll have to cut them off."

Those warm brown eyes instantly softened, looking down at Hanzo, his unfocused gaze seemingly settled on his chin. Jesse looked away from his broken archer to the other person. "Will it hurt him?"

"The noise may scare him. He's stunned, possibly in shock. He won't know what's going on and he may panic, but he won't be in pain."

Hanzo watched as that strong jaw hidden beneath a thick beard locked, none of the words meaning anything to him. The cowboy removed the battered serape from his shoulders to drape it over the archer's front, and maneuvered himself so that one thigh acted as his pillow, the other leg tucked next to Hanzo's shoulder. The position was uncomfortable, but if he leaned forward, it served to not only put the other's battered body at ease, but hid the sight of his prosthetics being sawed through to remove him from the rubble.

"Do it." He ordered, his hand of flesh and bone settling on the archer's chest to not only serve as a restraint, but an anchor while his prosthetic carded through Hanzo's tangled and matted hair. "Just lay still, darlin'. Be still."

And for a moment he was still, until the hacksaw began to move back and forth. The tool was crude, but it was the only thing to be found that would complete the task. The vibrations and noise made him thrash and scream, because even through the haze of pain, he was certain that his legs were being removed from the knee down. After all, it was impossible to forget the feeling of the slow process.

Through his litany of 'no' and begging for it to stop, he succumbed to the panic, despite all of Jesse's best efforts to calm him. After too long, in Jesse's opinion, Hanzo was free of the rubble, and with the help of the ground crew that helped free him, he was able to carry him, swaddled in the serape to an extraction ship that would rush the injured man to the competent hands of Dr. Ziegler.

One of Jesse's arms wrapped around his waist, the archer's head tucked snugly into his cowboy's neck, while the other arm held onto what remained of his legs. Even on the ship, the cowboy refused to release his husband. While on the ship, he only woke once, heavy eyelids fluttering open with a pained groan, which was immediately hushed by the younger man. "I've got you. You're alright now, darlin'. Jus' rest," he murmured. Another groan, but there was no fuss after that.

"I promise, I've got you."

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://sixxxshooter.tumblr.com/)


End file.
